Mercy

Coach Williams cautiously walked towards me as I awkwardly readied myself to bat. She looked down at me as I adjusted...and then readjusted the bat in my sweating hands. My grip loosened and then tightened, because I figured that clenching baseball bats is what the athletes do, and maybe I could simply fake it. But who was I kidding? No one would be convinced that I actually had any athletic ability whatsoever--despite whatever stylistic bluffs I put on--because they knew the truth. They had seen me run away with flailing arms from volleyballs, trip over stationary soccer balls, entangle myself in tether-ball standards, hit myself in the head with hula hoops, and just plain fail at every other sport included in our elementary school PE curriculum. It was a tragedy. I hated the whole entire experience, and I'm sure that witnessing my many athletic failures was bot painful and insulting to the talented sportsmen in my class. And so I now grimaced in anticipation for what the coach might say. The woman put her hand on my shoulder, looked straight into my eyes, and said "Mandy, you have nothing to prove. Walk onto first." For the first time in ages, I smiled in PE. I thanked the sympathetic coach, and tried to walk in a dignified manner to the first base, all the while marveling at the mercy I'd been offered. I don't think I've enjoyed another day of gym class since.